A Story to Remember
by Jarakrisafis
Summary: An introduction then, I am Hareios James Potter, I am writing this in the Family Grimoire for you my heir, as many before me have written their stories...


I suppose I should start this story off at the beginning shouldn't I, my heir?

So, an introduction, I am Hareios James Potter, yes I was born just Harry, but that's what deed polls are for. Although I am still Harry to many, I am also known as Ray to others.

I am writing this in the Family Grimoire as many before me have written their stories. The Grimoire will keep it safe until you, my heir, however many generations you are in the future are able to read it.

And so without further ado I will begin.

My tale begins in 1986, well technically it begins on 1981 When an evil wizard named Tom Riddle tried to kill me due to some prophecy and left me orphaned, but I'm sure you can find the entire story in one of the history books, I recommend 'The Rise and Fall of Voldemort 1927 to 1981'.

But back to my story, which as I already mentioned begins in 1986, the summer of 1986 before my sixth birthday to be exact.

I was at the age of five a curious child, although my relatives certainly didn't appreciate that, as such the oft repeated account that my parents had got themselves killed while drunk driving after spending a night of revelry in London with friends made me think.

With a five year olds' logic I therefore came to the easiest conclusion.

I would go to London to find these friends.

Normally such logic in a child would have no effect as the means of following through with such a wish would be impossible. Unfortunately I was, even at the age of five, determined to break such preconceived notions.

I apparated to London.

Yes, at the age of five, and without splinching, possibly because I was not aware at that time that leaving limbs behind was actually possible.

Now is the time you draw in your breath and wait for the evil dark wizard to swoop down, or the rabid werewolf to charge out, or possibly even for a glowing figure in white to appear and save me.

None of those things happened, after all fiction is just that, I mean who would buy a story where the person that finds the lost little boy is just a common person trying to earn their way?

Well, that's what happened.

I was staring up at one of the four great lions in Trafalgar Square, where a moment earlier I had been staring at the picture of the lions in a small tourist book.

Normally this is where the child screams and remembers that there parents told them not to talk to strangers.

But I was a five year old on a mission.

Therefore I asked this perfectly normal stranger if he knew anybody who was friends with my parents.

Which must have immediately set of alarm bells in his head the size of air raid sirens suggesting that this child is alone and quite probably lost.

He very slowly crouched down and asked where my parents were and what my name was.

To which I replied as I had been taught. My parents were no good freaks who killed themselves in a car crash through drunk driving and my name was Harry Potter.

I was quite proud of myself for remembering that, since I had only found my name out the year before that when I started attending compulsory schooling.

The kind stranger brushed a few strands of hair out of my face before quietly muttering something. Next thing I know I'm waking up in a bed in a old gloomy looking room.

I can now look back and realise how lucky I was that the perfectly normal stranger was not a dark evil minion of Tom Riddle. On the other hand the perfectly normal stranger wasn't entirely normal, unless you, like me, my heir are magical, in which case he was perfectly and utterly normal.

And this is that start of my real story. As you see, nobody ever checked up on me at my relatives, I shall we say, fell through the cracks. The department which looks after muggleborns thought the other department was looking after me as my parents were both magical. The other department thought that being looked after by Muggles the muggleborn department would deal with me, neither decided to check.

And thus begins the greatest cover up of modern history (Or perhaps that will be past history by the time you read this my heir). I was slowly introduced to my new home with nobody the wiser that I was now absent without leave from my intended abode, no, I wasn't too worried about returning to my relatives, I was after all five years old and being treated better than I would, why would I have wanted to return? They must have thought the same as I have never found any record that they reported me missing, just a note in the school records that I had been adopted and was now to be home schooled, I have to give my Aunt credit for that story, after all I didn't have any friends to ask after me, who was going to know any different?

After a few days of learning my way around the old stone building I had woken up in and now inhabited with my new guardian, uncle, father, master, I never could decide on exactly how I regarded him, dressed me up in some better fitting and cleaned clothes, although no less ragged and took me out for the first time.

Even now I vividly recall my first exposure to the Magical world. Grimy cobblestones beneath my feet as my new guardian kept a firm hold of my hand, the windows on either side as dirty as the road, the shops behind the windows somewhat foreboding. Figures, some in clothing even more tattered than ours hugged the shadows created by overhanging buildings and everybody cleared the path for two figures dressed in pristine crimson robes who strode past with an air of authority and superiority.

I learnt two things on that first visit. First, Aurors are to be avoided. Second, little fingers make snatching items off shelves very easy. And who would believe the cute little boy in worn but well looked after clothing with his grey haired father could ever steal anything?

I received a good education over the next few years, mathematics, English, Latin, recognition of basic runes and other magical wards, sigils and defences and of course, how to pick a lock, evade proximity wards and most importantly how to look innocent.

Everything a budding criminal needs.

Not that I was aware I was doing anything wrong. I mean I was doing what my guardian and his associates did. Don't they say that a child learns from examples? I certainly did.

By the time I was eleven I had not only been introduced to the premier British wizarding gang, the magic mafia of Britain if you will, but I was being taught the ins and outs of the criminal world.

And by that I don't mean the cheap burglary and muggings, but the high end scamming of businesses and other gangs which could haul in millions of Galleons.

My teachers, I will not reveal their names, only say that they were the high ranking people, the brains of the operation somehow managed to redirect my owl post via my relatives house so that anything addressed by magical means to Harry Potter would go to 4 Privet Drive before readdressing itself when it got within the wards. A brilliant piece of spellwork which again is one of the reasons nobody but you my heir knows that the Boy-Who-Lived was not actually resident at number 4 for most of his life.

And so it was that Harry Potter attended Hogwarts, and if small things went missing every so often, well nobody really missed them.

I told my friends that I went on holiday over the summer holidays, a great lie as it meant nobody dropped in on my relatives to find I wasn't there, while instead I was furthering my education in the slightly shadier side of the law.

The real problems only started after second year, well, the small matter of the elixir of life and the basilisk were easily taken care of, I even got a few shards of the stone and a fortune in extremely rare and highly illegal snake parts out of the deal.

After second year the highly dangerous criminal Sirius Black escaped from Azkaban.

I really wasn't too worried, being surrounded by equally dangerous and possibly slightly less insane criminals.

All ended well, Sirius Black was adopted into the criminal gang after I told him to lie low at one of the gang safe houses and told the gang he was my godfather. I even managed to avoid being bitten by a werewolf. On the other hand the accomplice in my birth parents murder managed to get away.

Fourth year was interesting; I wasn't aware that dragons could understand Parseltongue, nor was I aware that Merpeople could be so vicious. And then there was the little matter of the maze and portkey at the end, I knew I should have let Diggory take it. Damn me and my criminal scruples. Ah well, at least I only had to worry about getting me back in one piece after I got myself untied, unfortunately not quick enough to stop Riddle getting a new body, but quick enough that the only part of me he saw with his new eyes was my arse as I flung myself at the portkey, conveniently forgetting that I could have summoned it.

The next three years were much the same, slander from the daily prophet, and occasionally retractions for some article or other that just reeked of blackmail or outright threats. I love being the adopted kid of a large number of gang members who all have either large amounts of money or in some cases a very large, very sharp knife.

But alls well that ends well, or so the saying goes. The gang was able to acquire a few items after Dumbledore finally got around to telling me that the reason Riddle was still alive was through soul magic. Destroying them was harder and involved sacrificing a large amount of my stored basilisk venom, over several million Galleons worth, I could have cried, but eventually it was deemed that the only part of Tom's soul remaining was in him.

So off I went.

Next morning the still cooling body of Riddle was dumped in the Ministry fountain by a cloaked man.

Later autopsies would reveal the cause of death to be a severed carotid artery and a large infusion of basilisk venom.

Detailed investigations into the cloaked man would come up empty, the only information being that he was an assassin with no known identity.

After the deaths of several other prominent pureblood family members, with the only evidence being the sighting of a dark cloaked figure the Aurors began to call the assassin the Wraith as he left behind no evidence that could be used to identify him.

Of course it helped that I was currently gainfully employed as an Auror trainee and had access to the spells used to investigate a crime scene.

Know your enemy.

If you my heir have been taught as well as I taught my son and my grandson, I do not believe this story will be seeing the light of day. I would hope you too will keep the name of Potter a well respected one.

After all, who would associate one of the most successful Heads of the Auror Department with the equally successful Black Phoenix criminal gang?

With deepest regards my heir,

Hareios James Potter, Head: House Potter, Head Auror: British Ministry of Magic  
(Ray 'Wraith' Parker, Head of the Black Phoenix Organisation)


End file.
